Under the Olive Tree

21. Wahid Wa'Ishrun

When she heard the familiar three knocks, Amani easily knew who they belonged to. She heard her uncle call out to her before going down to open the door. With a few more moments to spare, Amani adjusted the belt of her café-colored abaya around her waist and let the wide sleeves fall to her finger tips. The edges of her matching hijab fell down her back where she'd expertly pinned their upper corners.

Amani tugged on the point of her scarf in the mirror before kissing her aunt goodbye and rushing down the steps. The light material of her dress lightly played at her ankles with each foot she hurriedly placed in front of the other. She could hear her uncle's conversation with Muhsin as she neared. Somehow, just hearing his voice made her even more excited to see her fiancé after two days of staying home.

She pulled the door open to step past her uncle but paused at the sight in front of her. Muhsin was standing in front of her in his own coffee brown thobe but he was holding a child no older than three or four months in his arms. "Who's this?" She wondered.

Muhsin turned to her, not once glancing down at her new abaya. "Are you ready?" He asked.

"You'll bring her back after the Isha prayer?" Her uncle claimed the third question of the interaction.

Amani's attention remained on the baby in his arms as it reached above its head and toward him. It played with the edges of his hair but not once pulled it. Muhsin seemed comfortable with its touch while he nodded. "I'll bring her back early inshallah."

When she stepped out and her uncle closed the door after them, she reiterated her curiosity. "I didn't know you had a son."

Muhsin moved the boy onto his other arm so his large head did not block his view of Amani. "He's not mine," he clarified as if she might genuinely mistake their relationship. Placing one hand under the boy's arm to straighten him, Muhsin formally introduced him. "This is Muhammed –Farouq's nephew. My cousin. He wouldn't stop crying so Arwa gave him to me when I came."

Her distrust fell away when Muhammed squealed at her, pushing one tightened fist into his round cheek. "Can I carry him?"

"You can try," Muhsin responded. "He does not like to leave me."

Amani lifted her hands toward the boy. "Do you want to come here?" She cooed gently, pulling the kindest of expressions onto her features to encourage the child. "Hm? Come on."

But he turned away from her, burying his face into Muhsin's shoulder and gripping his thobe to strongly she thought it might rip. Muhsin's smile was victorious, almost cocky when he looked back at Amani. She liked it.

"I told you," he admitted.

"He just doesn't know me. Give me an hour."

Muhsin chuckled and began down the street with her at his side. "Don't take it personally. He does not go to anyone when I'm around," he attempted to console her. If anything, the ghost of a grin he tried to stifle was boastful.

"He doesn't go to anyone or you don't give him to anyone?" She challenged, keeping her focus on Muhsin to avoid all the curious eyes that followed them. Now that they were formally engaged, it was OK for the two of them to walk together in the streets for everyone to see. Amani hardly needed to get used to the wowed expressions they received. She always felt reassured when Muhsin was beside her. She'd proudly bagged the best town boy there was.

Muhsin shook his head. "If he wants to go to another, I would not even have the power to keep him to myself. Children do what they like, Amani. Nobody has the power to stop them. You are like them in that way," he murmured the last part quietly.

She heard it, but she didn't mind its accuracy. "I have to go after what I want, though. It isn't just handed to me like it is them."

"The best things should not be handed to you."